Regina's Neverland Diary
by Chrmdpoet
Summary: Regina, the outcast of the Neverland troupe, takes comfort in the privacy and safety of a diary where she can openly vent her frustrations about the Charming gang and their epic fails on the mission to save Henry from Peter Pan. Some of her entries, though, delve just a bit deeper, exposing feelings she normally hid. Rated M for language and sexual innuendos. CRACKFIC.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is random and came to me in a moment of tedium. It is 100% crack, so please don't go off about it being OOC, because when I say that it is crack, I mean it is CRACK. Strictly for humor and some dopey SwanQueen feels. **

**ONE-SHOT.**

**I hope you like it. XO-Chrmdpoet**

Regina's Neverland Diary

_Day One _

I've decided to keep this diary primarily as a source of comfort. Given the fact that I'm on this nightmare of an adventure with the entirety of the Charming family, plus the insufferable Hook, I think it's safe to assume that I will be severely hurting for company; not to mention the fact that I will undoubtedly have a vast number of things to say, not-so-nice things, and will need a safe place to vent.

First things first, let's just go ahead and get this out there—I know I am supposed to be this prim and proper lady, and for the most part, I'd say I play the role expertly. I've had a lot of practice after all. I was raised in a damn outdated, far-too-traditional land by a mother who was obsessed with me being a proper lady, and then I was a Queen, and then I was a Mayor. Needless to say, I've got the act down—proper speech, proper grammar, proper posture, perfectly coiffed hair, flawless skin courtesy of a proper diet and a vigorous moisturizing routine, and the list goes on. However, I'm going to keep it real with you, diary. My brain has an absolutely filthy mouth, and I find I rather like it and wish I could exercise it more openly. Alas, I have a reputation to uphold.

With you though, diary, I'm dropping my filter. I think it's safe to say that I will need to rant about a certain dwarf-loving dimwit on multiple occasions whilst we're here, and I would hate to have to censor my rage in the privacy of my own journal.

Now that that's out of the way…

It's our first day on the island, and I could describe the place to you in three words. _Green. Wet. Redundant._

We legitimately spent the entire damn day walking in circles, during which I was forced to endure being smacked in the face repeatedly by giant leaves and listening to the Charmings whine incessantly. Of course, all of this took place _after _I was made to endure a nauseating cruise on Hook's gayly-named, poorly-crafted lifeboat where we were attacked by hot mermaids with deadly conch shells, I almost converted the good prince to the dark side by persuading him to dice us up some sushi, the fairest idiot of them all punched me in the face after I accurately insulted her love of all things cutesy and childish, and my idiot Swan jumped overboard in an overly dramatic attempt at making a point.

_Then_, as if that wasn't enough, the ship gets irreparably maimed by the mermaid-summoned storm, and when we finally make it to the shore, I have to endure the unfortunate self-righteous layer of bullshit that the Charmings somehow managed to cake onto their previously more tolerable and morally gray daughter as she waddled around in the sand and spouted off about being a mother (psh, try that one again in a decade, incubator) and claimed that we needed to work together. She said that that didn't meant she wanted to be friends, but I secretly think she does. Sometimes, she seems just as lonely as I am.

Emma is completely different from her idiot parents (still an idiot, just a different type of idiot). She isn't self-righteous and goody-goody like them; at least, she never was prior to learning that they were her parents. Now, however, it's like she is constantly attempting to be more like them, more proper and acceptable in their eyes, and quite frankly, it sickens me. She's lost so much of her fire, and I can't help but blame the profusely limp and damp Snow White—that bitch wouldn't know a fire if it engulfed her entire body and licked her intimately. Stop dousing my Swan...I mean, your daughter, Snow!

On the real, diary, Regina Mills doesn't do the whole "friend" thing. Or maybe it's that "friends" don't really gravitate toward me—some bullshit about not being able to be friends with someone who has ripped out hearts or killed innocent people. Personally, I find that to be a poor excuse, because first of all—you don't know my life. Second of all, I find it insulting that the fact that I've torn people's hearts out is a deterrent from friendship, but the fact that precious Snow's abhorrent and manipulative actions (AND USE OF DARK MAGIC) in making me kill my own mother hasn't caused anyone to turn away from her. She just gets to bop around with her perfect family and her mindless friends and her outdated ideals and morals and her idiotic purple backpack like she's done nothing wrong. Meanwhile, I'm made to suffer for every tiny little step out of line and am deemed a monster.

Must be nice to never suffer any consequences, Dora the Explorer.

No me gusta.

Anyway, I _do _think, though, that were the circumstances different, Emma and I could be friends. We have this understanding about one another that I've never had with anyone else. Sure, we enjoy insulting one another, but I rarely mean it more than skin-deep, and that is certainly saying something since when I otherwise insult people (particularly her mother), I'm hoping the words dive down their throats and eat their intestines like a fucking tapeworm. That's got to count for something, right?

Gods, the voices. The two idiots are sleeping soundly (far away from me, thankfully), all snuggled in their pile of dirt, and here I am, writing in this diary because sleep is impossible. It's impossible because all I hear is the incessant sounds of crying children. I know why I hear it…I'm just choosing not to think too much on it. I wish it would just go away.

Emma has to hear them, too. She hasn't stirred, but I know her history, and there is NO way she doesn't hear them. Oh wait, I hear her moving around.

* * *

_Day Two_

If the gods are real, they hate me. I mean…they really fucking hate me; otherwise, they would not have aligned me with this absolutely and epically moronic family. How is it legitimately possible that my son shares a bloodline with Snow White of all people, not to mention her lapdog, Charming? Oh, and Rumple and Baelfire (Really? Baelfire? What the hell kind of name is that?)…

Emma (and the fact that she's attractive) is really the only saving grace in the biological tree that produced the fruit that is my darling son, and even she grates on my nerves at times. Needless to say, for the most part, Henry was totally fucked in the genetics department.

You're welcome for adopting you, son. Nature=0 Nuture=Yes, please.

Adoption is definitely one of the great things about Emma's world (or the "real world" as she calls it). Things like that didn't really exist in the Enchanted Forest. Adoption was the equivalent of stumbling upon an abandoned baby in a pile of hay somewhere and saying, "Oh a babe! I shall raise him as my own and none shall question his parentage!" And that was that. No paperwork. No legal rights. No anything.

Then again, plus side for the EF was that you were much less likely to have to deal with the return of biological parents years down the line looking to reclaim their child, primarily because if a baby was found abandoned, it most likely was due to an involuntary separation. The parents were most likely killed by thieves, eaten by a dragon or an ogre or a chimera or any number of wild creatures, or some other random tragedy. Additionally, if the parents _did _happen to be alive, they couldn't just jump on the internet and track down their lost child, or call the police and have them issue an amber alert. So, if you found a baby that wasn't your baby and you decided to keep said baby…well, you were fairly safe in doing so.

Must be nice. _I _adopted Henry thinking we could be a nice little family together, and here we are, eleven years later, and I've got bio family coming out of my ears. Where's a damn dragon when you need one?

* * *

_Still Day Two_

Emma couldn't get Pan's lame map to work, so I enchanted it to lead us to him.

Emma even thanked me for helping. Wow. I think we had a moment. I'm fairly certain that we did, in fact, have a moment. She kind of smiled at me, and I kind of smiled at her, and I could practically feel Snow White breathing down our necks, her eyes digging into my brain as if trying to shut me off and get me away from her daughter. Damn if that didn't just make me want to get closer. That and Emma's biceps.

Can I just say that I am awesome?

I am awesome.

That is all.

XX-Regina

* * *

_Still Day Two_

Well shit. The map did as I enchanted it to. It led us straight to that sniveling, smug, pre-pubescent pain in the ass with his overly dramatic facial expressions and his bushy eyebrows that are in desperate need of a wax. (Someone call the Neverland Spa!) However, he was ready for us, and we were ambushed by his army of wayward teens.

And of course Pan had to give us some grand lecture about how using magic was cheating even though the little rat probably doesn't even use the bathroom without magic. So then the Charmings, of course, fixed me with their Regina-this-is-all-your-fault glares that I'm all too familiar with, and suddenly I am the villain again.

Not feeling quite so awesome anymore. I should have gone with Rumple.

* * *

_Day Three_

Emma finally got the map to work…

The truly terrible thing about that is that in order for her to make the ink on the map appear, she had to openly admit that she is an orphan. She didn't think anyone but Snow was listening, but I could hear them talking, and of course, I was eavesdropping.

Whatever. I can get away with that shit, because everyone thinks I'm evil and manipulative anyway.

I wish I hadn't, though. I just feel sick now. I know that Emma's childhood isn't solely my fault. No one forced the two idiots to shove their daughter in a tree and ship her to Maine (who the hell _does _that?!), but that fact doesn't make me feel any less terrible about it. There was so much sorrow in her voice, such hopelessness, and it ate at me. It's still eating at me, and not only because I had a hand in her becoming an orphan, but also because I can relate.

I wasn't an orphan, obviously, but sometimes I wished I was. I felt just as abandoned, just as unloved as what I would imagine Emma felt like as she was growing up.

I think the Savior and I have a lot more in common than either of us are probably ever going to admit out loud.

* * *

_Day Four_

Some great help the map is. Pan's camp moves every five damn seconds! Therefore, we have absolutely no earthly clue what we're doing or where we're going.

I need a drink, diary. I need more than _a _drink. I need multiple drinks. I need to be drunk off my regal ass, diary.

Emma could be drunk with me. I think she would like that. She looks like she needs multiple drinks, too; what with her smothering, hovering parents and the walking cliché of a pirate following her around and making penis metaphors and sexual innuendos every five seconds. Yeah, she should be drunk.

In my mind, we are drunk together, sitting in a leaf hammock or something similar and making merry fun of Snow.

And Snow is pouting about the fact that she wasn't invited and that Emma is drinking with the Evil Queen of all people, but in my mind, neither Emma nor I give a royal fuck about what Snow thinks.

Oh gods, I need to get out of the damn Neverland heat.

I'M DELUSIONAL!

I need to find my son and go home.

* * *

_Day Five…Six?_

Today has literally consisted of us walking in circles. Walking in circles. Walking in circles. Walking in circles.

Meanwhile, let's cut to Snow White: "I think this is definitely a new area, guys. These leaves are more of a jungle green color. The ones from before were more of a forest green. There are about two shades of difference between those colors. Oh, and the crickets here chirp at least an octave higher than the ones from before. I would say we are definitely headed in the right direction! Rainbows! Unicorns! True Love! Yay!"

Not even her own daughter is buying that shit. I swear I saw Emma roll her eyes at least three different times when her merry mother was spouting off endless waves of enduring optimism. We even shared a few small smiles, and for a second…_only _a second, I felt this tug in my chest. It felt good.

I wanted to feel it again, so I took a chance and mockingly shaped my hand into a gun and pretended like I was shooting myself in the face. I was absolutely delighted when Emma actually snorted with laughter.

Uh oh. I shouldn't have done that.

I need to get the hell away from these people! I'm feeling things, and I _hate _feelings things. For a dark heart like mine, any tiny bit of hope is like heroin withdrawal. IT HURTS! IT HURTS! AND YET I NEED MORE!

Still, when she smiled and laughed, I felt another tug, only this one was low in my stomach, and I knew _exactly _what that meant. Unfortunately, I was surrounded by Charmings and a pirate. Not a damn shred of privacy.

Neverland is the worst place in the world to be when you desperately need to rub one out...I mean, when you need some time alone.

Damn that stupid Emma Swan and her stupid biceps and her stupid smile and this fucking heat!

I'm going to go wallow in my pent-up sexual frustration and misery.

XX-Regina

* * *

_Day…I don't even know anymore. _

I should have killed that fucking pirate decades ago!

He's been shoving his head so far up the purity clan's asses just trying to prove…hell, I don't even know what he's trying to prove. That he's not actually a villain? That he's redeemable? (Good luck. That ship doesn't sail with the Charmings, Hook. No one is redeemable. Or maybe that's just me.)

That he's an excellent choice of suitor for Emma? HA!

How is it that no one (not even Emma) realizes that she is a lesbian?

I mean, she is a LEEEEEEEESBIAN. She is the walking embodiment of multiple lesbian stereotypes (the way she dresses, the way she sits, the way she stands, and so on and so forth), not that stereotypes are always correct. For example, I'm fairly certain that I, myself, would appear as the poster-woman for heterosexuality to most people who meet me, and yet I find my gaze gravitating toward Emma's ass two, three…..twenty times a day. Can you really blame me, diary? I think she deliberately buys her pants two sizes too small.

Women are simply more aesthetically pleasing than men.

_Anyway_, Hook, in his pathetic effort to be a hero in eyeliner, decided it would be a good idea to suggest we pay a visit to a certain fairy that I may or may not have a complicated history with.

Okay, I _do _have a complicated history with her.

And the sad thing is that she actually might be able to help us get to Henry; however, she's never going to agree to help us once she sees me.

Did I mention that I should have killed Hook decades ago?

Well, I should have.

* * *

_No point in recording the days anymore. _

So, I tried to talk Emma out of going to find Tinkerbell. I even proposed that we utilize "our" magic in order to save Henry, because I think it's fairly obvious that she and I are damn near unstoppable when we combine our power.

However, I was instantly shot down because of Emma's hand-me-down fears of magic perpetuated by her dumbass mother. She practically swatted my idea like it was a puppy that just urinated on her rug. _No Regina! Magic bad! Magic BAD!_

I found this especially rude considering I had actually forced myself to use an inclusive pronoun for her. "Our" isn't easy for me to say. I'm too accustomed to "mine."

What? I can't even get a pat on the head for progress?

And then, of course, came the poster-child for all things fluffy and lame. Snow butted right into my PRIVATE conversation with Emma and basically reiterated the bad-Regina swat. So then, in my utter and epic annoyance, diary, I of course had to make a snarky comment about Emma only wanting to seek out Tink because her "boyfriend suggested it" (Hook).

Snow's holy head exploded with that one, her lecture spewing all over my face about how Emma had just lost Neal, and it actually made me feel bad enough to apologize. HOWEVER, let it be known, diary, that I was strictly apologizing to Emma, not Snow. I will NEVER apologize to Snow.

Emma, though…well, she is actually rather important to me...I mean, _tolerable,_ and even likable. Plus, we have to share a son, so we're going to have to get along at some point. I can make an effort with her.

Gods, I feel like I'm in rehab or therapy or some shit, and I'm drowning in stupid feelings and stupid idiots. Help.

Somebody.

Someone.

Fuck.

* * *

Okay, so much shit has happened in the past few days. Emma and I had some alone time (not what it sounds like, unfortunately). I got kidnapped by a pissed-off fairy with poppies. I got rescued by a pissed-off Savior who I think was actually _worried_ that something terrible had happened to me (insert wicked smirk here). And we discovered that Tink is unwilling to help us unless we have a solid plan in place (how intelligent, wise, and mature of her).

So, can we just take a moment to chat about my little moment with Emma, diary?

I'm not even going to lie. It fucking hurt my feelings when Emma accused me of doing something to Tinkerbell. She knows absolutely nothing of my history with the fairy, and yet she automatically assumed that, at some point in the past, I did something terrible to her. That was utter bullshit, and I'm pretty sure I wasn't even able to hide the fact that it stung. It must have been written all over my face because only minutes later, she was trying to be a little nicer.

Dammit, why can I never hide my emotions when it comes to Emma Swan? It's absolutely maddening!

She just looks at me sometimes and it's like her stupid eyes are drilling giant holes in my head so that everything I've kept hidden in there just pours out like fucking sour lemonade, far too bitter for anyone's tastes, even my own. I hate it.

We had yet another of our little "moments" when we were talking about Henry and the fact that I'd been secretly referring to our mission as Operation Henry.

She smiled and I smiled. I cried a bit and she cried a bit. She touched me…PG, of course. Just a friendly pat on the arm, and yet it still caused tingles to rip straight up my spine. Those tingles, though, were nothing compared to the complete and utter panty explosion I experienced when I heard Emma sprint up to Tink's hideaway cave with her sword drawn and screaming, "Where's Regina?!"

Swoon. Melt. Orgasm.

All of the above, diary. _All _of the above.

Oh, and I'm not even going to get into it with you about Tinkerbell calling me selfish for not wanting to run into a back-alley pub a trillion years ago and get it on with some seedy stranger with a lame tattoo who was supposed to be my "soul mate" or some nonsense.

She apparently never got the "ho's before bro's" memo.

Like I was _really _going to go for that, Tink. Besides, all these years later, I'm an entirely different person, and between you and me, diary, I'd rather get it on with the Savior. Oops, I meant to write that I would rather get it on with someone I'm actually familiar with…

* * *

Life-Altering News Update, Diary: Pre-teen Baelfire thoroughly enjoyed rock-wall doodles, pasta, and nightlights.

* * *

Hook and Charming ran off together to frolick in the weeds or some shit. Who knows? Meanwhile, Snow tapped into that tiny dark spot on her heart and proposed that we hunt and trap us a tween!

So, she set the stupid trap, and now we're waiting. This should be interesting, diary. I give it all of five seconds before Snow realizes what she's doing/done and slaps her purity cap back on.

I can see it now: "Oh heavens no, what have we done? It is but an innocent child, my friends! Let us not dabble in the darkness! Scurry toward the light! SCURRY!"

(rolling eyes)-Regina

* * *

Okay, so we caught a Lost Boy.

He didn't find my chocolate very persuasive. (Suit yourself. It's delicious.)

And exactly as I predicted, Snow freaked out, and all because I suggested that I take the boy's heart and use it to control him. It's not like the act would even hurt the boy, and I could easily just put the heart right back once we were done getting a message to Henry, but nooooo.

Snow on her Holy Roller Princess Parade had to bitch about how taking the boy's heart would be "evil" and "wrong" and so on.

Oh, but wait for it, diary.

_Emma _verbally bitch-slapped her self-righteous mother when she took _my _side and said (and I quote), "I think we need to talk to OUR son."

Let me just repeat that to you in case you didn't get it, diary. Emma, who is a Charming, TOOK MY SIDE on something, something BIG. I practically creamed myself it was such a satisfying moment.

The absolute best moment, though, was getting to see Henry's face again. He looked right at me through the mirror and whispered, "Mom?" and I swear my heart just melted. I've never loved anything or anyone in my life more than I love Henry, and to be able to visibly see that he was okay and to hear him refer to me as "Mom" with such hope in his voice meant so much more to me than I can even express.

What was better was that I got to share that moment with Emma, and I hate to admit it because it only makes me feel like I am putting my heart on the line to later be utterly pulverized as is typical for me, but it just felt so natural—like we were actually…a family. A real family.

Well, except for the fact that the ever-enduring third wheel grandma had to pop her head into the middle of our happy moment and all but scream, "I'm here, too."

Oh my gods, Snow, go get your own enchanted mirror and make your own happy family moment. Other than Emma's sexuality and  
our obvious attraction for one another, Snow is like the constant elephant in the room—only she takes every opportunity she can to make her presence known.

Regardless, diary, I am absolutely floating on cloud nine right now. I am on such a high from seeing my son and actually sort of bonding with Emma that I don't think anything can bring me down.

* * *

…Spoke too soon, diary. Spoke too FUCKING soon!

Charming and Hook came thrashing through the greenery and then suddenly Charming was mauling Snow in front of all of us.

Um, no thank you, Charmings. No one needs to see you two suck face for an hour!

Emma quite obviously hated it, too, even audibly grumbling her disapproval, which was basically the only thing that made it tolerable. It was rather amusing to hear.

Ah, but then things completely and utterly blew up in my face.

Hook supposedly saved Charming's life or some shit while they were off gallivanting through the jungle together, and suddenly the pirate is one of the good guys?! Snow and Charming and Emma actually _toasted _him, and then they actually tried to get _me _to toast him!

Seriously. No, seriously? I feel like I have just dropped into a fucking joke of a dream. You have got to be kidding me with this shit.

Hook does one tiny good deed and suddenly all of his sins are forgiven, despite the fact that he is a huge part of the reason that we are even here in the first place? Yet, here I am, having openly made it very clear that I wished to redeem myself, and having already sacrificed my life multiple times (once for Emma and _begrudgingly _Snow at the well, once for Henry at the cannery, and then yet again for the entire damn town with the trigger), and no one even acknowledges any of this.

I am so done with these self-righteous, self-absorbed, double-standard, hypocritical idiots!

DONE.

* * *

She kissed him, diary.

Emma fucking kissed that slimy-ass pirate. She thinks no one saw, but I did. Of course I did. I'm basically _always _eavesdropping. It's what I do.

Again, though, I wish I hadn't, because all I could think was that it should have been me.

I can't do this anymore, diary.

I need to find my son. I need to go home. I need to buy Emma some mouthwash so she can rinse the pirate taste out of her mouth.

And then…I need to kiss her.

Okay, plan set. Time to execute. Let's just hope no one pisses me off before I can finish this.

XX-Regina.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I decided to add another segment since so many people reviewed and requested that I continue for the episodes that followed where I left off. So, this chapter covers the last two episodes, including the most recent. **

**I hope you all find it funny and entertaining, and thank you for reviewing and supporting this little crackfic. XO-Chrmdpoet**

Regina's Neverland Diary (Continued)

Epic fail, diary. Epic, EPIC fail in the kiss department.

It wasn't that I necessarily chickened out, per say. It was more that I had a mild case of stage fright (hardly even worth mentioning really) considering the fact that wherever the golden-haired princess goes, her charming (sarcasm, diary, sarcasm) parents follow. I doubt Emma would appreciate me kissing her in front of them, let alone Hook (though the latter would be supremely satisfying considering he has been so persistent in his pointless attempts to steal my Swan's heart). I personally wouldn't mind sending Snow White and Prince Charming into cardiac arrest from pure shock by latching onto Emma's lips right in front of them, but I _do _know that it would bother Emma. When we do kiss, it should probably be in private; at least the first time. (I fully intend on flaunting that shit in front of the Charmings at some point, diary.)

I guess I should say _if _we kiss, though I prefer confidence over guessing. However, Emma is a grown woman and will make her own decisions regardless of what I want or how undeniably alluring I am. I truly believe she wants to kiss me. I've seen her gaze dart far too many times to my lips for there to be nothing behind it (perhaps some lovely tingles in a certain area). I'm afraid she doesn't have the courage to do it, though; that and she is obviously distracted by the seemingly never-ending penis parade constantly butting into our building sexual tension and vying for her heart.

First it was Baelfire (Thank gods he is dead, and diary, trust me when I say I only feel slightly guilty for saying that, and only because it hurt Emma.)

Now, it's Hook with his excessive eyeliner. It is gross and runny now after days on the island and in this heat. He looks like a raccoon with an accent. HA! Thanks to my lovely magic, my own eye makeup is flawless. (Queen=1 Pirate=0)

Then, of course, there are his disgusting sexual innuendos that he seems to have an endless supply of. Why do men think that that is romantic in any sense and expect women to fawn over them for it? Perhaps you should try for her heart and not her vagina, Hook. This is not a porn channel. It's more like the Lifetime Movie Channel. Sad women everywhere!

Finally, there is the extreme amount of leather that makes his body oddly pear-shaped and the constant eyebrow waggle he does that makes his eyebrow look like a furry caterpillar desperately trying to get to the brown fluffy grass that is Hook's hair.

P.S. Diary, am I the only one in this group that shivers at the thought of relations with a man who has a hook for a hand? I'm all for people with disabilities and prosthetics (yay for diversity), but my mind instantly flashes to a bloody mess at any of the man's attempts to grab her and pull her close. I'm sure Emma would rather not have her kidney accidentally removed in your attempt to yank her flush against you, Hook. Sorry, I've got soft, delicate hands and let me just say…if _I _grabbed Emma to pull her against my own body, it would certainly be anything but painful. (Insert Wink Here, Diary).

Anyway, so back to my epic failure of an attempt (not really; there was no attempt whatsoever) at kissing Emma Swan.

Upon finishing my last entry, I immediately went to find the Swan. She was sitting by the fire and appeared to be alone. Lucky for me, right? Wrong.

I had barely made my way into the clearing before Emma shot to her feet and practically yelled, "Regina, you need to teach me magic!"

"Sorry?" I asked her, unsure of whether or not I had even heard her right, because surely Snow and Charming would suffer a coronary at even the mere thought of me of all people teaching their daughter magic. (Then again, diary…motivation is key.)

"Yeah," she said, staring at me like a deer in headlights. "Yup."

That was pretty much it, diary. Sometimes Emma and the English language don't mesh so well. It is always adorable to watch her struggle to find words that seemingly evade her on purpose. Her vocabulary must have a wicked sense of humor (or it never graduated the third grade).

"You actually want _me_ to teach you magic?" I asked her. "Do your parents know?"

She glared at me then, but instead of actually being intimidated by it (I am intimidated by NO ONE), I was only turned on; figures since I've been in a perpetual state of sexual frustration for…well, a long time.

"Let's just do this, Regina," she snapped at me, and I swear those words just sank right into my panties, diary. It wasn't like my mind wasn't already there to begin with; I could so easily take those words and apply them to something entirely different that I would be more than happy to do with the Savior.

Shit, someone's coming. More story later, diary.

XX-Regina

* * *

Sorry to leave you hanging, diary.

Where was I? Oh right, Emma told me to teach her magic, and after clearing the issue of her parents, I agreed, hoping that it would give us some time alone together so that I could eventually get to the kissing part.

However, two seconds (literally) after I agreed to teach her magic, Snow and Charming came barreling into the clearing like the biggest, most annoying twat-blocks I have ever seen and plopped down on a rock across from us.

"Don't say anything," Emma snapped at them before they had even really settled down, which I couldn't help but snicker at, of course. "Regina is teaching me magic. I might need it, and that is that."

Snow looked like her head was going to pop off of her neck and fly wildly around like a balloon someone had suddenly untied and let loose; however, it only took one intense glare from her daughter to have her slamming her lips shut and simply grumbling to herself as she grossly cuddled into Charming's arms.

I was thoroughly pissed, of course; put off by their mere presence and the fact that said presence would effectively prevent me from kissing their daughter—magic lesson or no.

See what I mean, diary? I basically never had a chance, right?

This island blows.

* * *

I had another magic lesson with Emma, and though Emma annoyed the ever-loving hell out of me during, let me tell you, diary, I think I am actually falling for her. It isn't just a matter of sexual tension, her undeniably stacked body, or common ground anymore; and though we certainly seem to have an emotional connection, not to mention our connection via our shared son, we also apparently like similar things.

I learned this during the lesson (Snow and Charming present, of course. Gag me.). We were standing by the fire, which I had used my magic to put out, and I was attempting to help her rekindle it using her own magic. She seemed perfectly set on grating at my nerves, because she hardly listened to me, simply bobbing her head absentmindedly to everything I said and staring at the logs as if they would light themselves. She is a whiner, diary. She whines A LOT. Rome wasn't built in a day, Emma, and magic takes time. She wants an automatic solution. She wants to go from novice to expert in sixty seconds, and it simply isn't a possibility.

However, I can't deny that Emma does have a ton of potential when it comes to magic. The few times that she managed to make a tiny spark (that resulted in nothing but its own temporary existence), I could sense the power of her untapped magic and it was positively overwhelming. And maybe a tad arousing, diary, but let's keep that between you and I.

Anyway, instead of actually listening to what I was attempting to say, Emma began to hum. This is when I realized that we might actually have much more than we even realize in common. I realized this because the song she started humming was instantly recognizable to me, but Snow and Charming simply stared at her as if they didn't have a single clue. (Of course they didn't; they are far too square to know good music.)

Before I indulge you, diary, can I just say that I find it offensive that apparently everyone sees me as a stereotypical stick-up-the-ass politician who can only enjoy health-conscious foods and Mozart? I may be a mayor and formerly a queen, but that doesn't mean that I don't like things loose and dirty at times. (That sounded worse than I intended it to, diary. Keep that in mind, please.)

What I meant is that though I do exercise a healthy diet, it doesn't mean that I don't positively LOVE french fries and bloody steak and four-cheese pizza and twizzlers (yes, twizzlers). And as far as music goes, I came to Emma's world in 1983, diary, and let me tell you, I rode the musical wave like a total diva all through the 80s, 90s, and early 2000s.

So, when I instantly recognized that Emma was humming a song by one of my favorite 90s groups, TLC, I nearly flooded my pants.

It was "No Scrubs," and I literally had to clench my fists to keep from dancing and bite my tongue to the point of tasting blood to keep from busting out the lyrics when she reached the second (my favorite) verse.

_But a scrub is checkin' me, and his game is kinda weak, and I know that he cannot approach me._

'_Cuz I'm lookin' like class, and he's lookin' like trash. Can't get wit a deadbeat ass!_

So, as you can see, diary—I am NOT a prude.

Seriously, that song is perfect, because I absolutely do not go for scrubs. I am a queen for gods' sake. I could have attacked Emma (with my mouth) right then, and most likely would have were it not for the ever-annoying presence of her parents. Also, I was secretly hoping that Emma was humming that song for all the Baelfires and Hooks out there in the world.

I was staring at Emma like she was the most beautiful gay thing I had ever seen, and Snow was staring at her like, "When did my daughter get so gay?", and Charming was staring at both of us like, "End Game."

That's all I'm saying, diary. Gayness was practically licking the air between us.

When it became almost too much to bear without allowing it to culminate into dirty Neverland sex, I snapped my fingers at Emma to stop her humming and demanded that she concentrate, focus, and summon her anger.

She didn't take too well to that, diary, and then she struck me in the heart with her limited vocabulary.

She called me a monster.

A monster.

I tried to play it off like it didn't upset me, because I did feel a bit like I had goaded her into it in an attempt to force her to tap into her anger and light the fire (which she did), but if you don't know how much that single insult hurt me, then just let it marinate for a while, diary. Maybe you will figure it out.

Maybe Emma will.

XX-Regina

* * *

I almost cried when I left her, but mostly I cried because I wanted her to come with me, and she chose Snow and Charming. She chose Hook. She chose Baelfire.

Yeah, newsflash, diary. "Neal", the bane of my existence (second only to Snow), and spawn of pre-Dark One Rumplestiltskin, apparently lives (you will hear no hallelujah from me), and he is here in Neverland. Thank you, Snow, for blurting that out for all of us to hear and seethe over.

I swear, Snow's inability to keep secrets is almost comical at this point. They literally jump out of her mouth the instant they fall upon her ears. She vomits out secrets like that girl from _The Exorcist_. Messy. Annoying. Rank. Inna-fucking-propriate!

As soon as Snow shared that Baelfire was still alive and was being held prisoner by Pan, Emma's face dropped and darkened, and I knew that whatever had been building between us was lost in that single moment.

I tried to make her see reason. I tried to remind her that we were there for _our _son, and that Henry should be her main priority as he was mine, but nothing that I said could break down her walls.

It didn't help that Snow was on her other side encouraging her to go after Neal, because of "True Love" and all of her cutesy romance bullshit. If Rumplestiltskin's son is Emma's True Love, then the gods are truly twisted. Rewarding the Savior (of almost an entire realm of people) with a True Love that voluntarily abandoned her based on the words of a drugged-out puppet-turned-human with a typewriter and let her go to prison for his own crimes and never attempted to contact her again or even apologize for what he had done until he discovered that a few of the sperm he had donated had actually managed to create a baby (_my _son, _not _his); how truly unfair. Then again, it's not like I believe that the gods are ever fair.

I mean, look at my life. Even when I was "good" and "pure", I was still screwed.

When Emma looked me dead in the eyes and verbally made her shitty ex-boyfriend a priority over our son, I admit, diary, I lost a ton of respect for her.

She told me that we needed to stick together, but she was wrong. What we needed to do was to find Henry, to make Henry the only thing that truly mattered; and Emma should have come with me.

She should have made a different decision.

She should have listened to me, because to be perfectly honest, diary, I have no doubt that that one decision will haunt her for the rest of her life, especially if something happens to Henry (which it won't if I have any say in the matter, and I _do_.)

* * *

Walking through stupid bushes, getting smacked by giant leaves…these are _NOT _some of my favorite things.

I'm fairly certain that my boots are getting muddy (which I absolutely abhor), I also have not yet located Rumple, and to top all of that off, my heart feels like it might just explode any minute.

As I've told you before diary, I'm not a fan of feeling things. This is why, because when _I _allow myself to feel, I always end up in pain.

This party just ain't jumpin' like it used to, diary.

Sorry, ever since Emma crushed my soul into dust by choosing Baelfire over me and over Henry, I've been walking around this fucking island with my mental iPod on shuffle, and Usher just keeps spilling into my head every time I think of Emma.

I even find that the lyrics seem rather fitting:

I'm twisted 'cuz one side of me is tellin' me I need to move on,

But on the other side I wanna break down and cry!

Wow, that was so sappy that it made _me _gag. Sorry, diary. I find I become quite the disgusting mess when I actually let myself wallow around in my sorrow.

Ugh, pull it together, Regina!

I don't need her. I don't need any of those goody-goody bitches.

I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T, DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEAN?!

I got my own house. I got my own car. Two jobs, work hard, I'm a bad broad.

(Insert long, annoyed sigh here)…I should never have gone on that rap-music binge. That shit is going to be stuck in my head forever now.

This is one of the most irritating days of my life (seriously saying something, diary).

I hope Baelfire rots in a cage somewhere and they NEVER find him.

* * *

Oh hell, diary. I mean, just _what_?

Am I the only person on this gods-forsaken island that isn't losing my mind?

I went off in search of Rumple, only to find his dark ass talking to an illusion. Here I was thinking that the entire time I was made to endure trekking through the island with the Charmings, Rumplestiltskin was surely making progress elsewhere where there was no one around to shoot down his brilliant ideas (that is a reference to myself, diary), or stifle his use of magic simply because it is dark (another reference to myself); however, when I actually _did_ manage to find the impy bastard, I discovered that instead of grand progress or game-changing plans, all that Rumple has managed to make while in Neverland is a fool of himself.

Sitting on a log, fingering a fucking twig doll or something equally disturbing, and pouring his wicked heart out to Pan's shadow's creepy recreation of Belle. Seriously, are you kidding me? Are you _kidding _me?

Have I taken crazy pills, diary? Did I somehow manage to portal myself back to Wonderland by accident? Because none of this ridiculousness makes sense.

Rumplestiltskin is the gods-damned Dark One—what kind of amateur hour is this that HE of all people would fall for such pathetic trickery?

So, of course, I had to choke the ever-living life out of Belle (not really Belle, diary. Don't freak.), and of course, Rumple whined like a baby until the Belle imposter revealed its true self—Pan's Shadow.

You're welcome for saving your ass, Rumple.

* * *

We have a plan, diary. I mean, we have a legitimately promising plan, thanks to me of course, because I am a fucking genius.

I called on my old friend (term used rather loosely), Ariel, a mermaid, and asked (demanded/persuaded) her to swim to Storybrooke (because mermaids are Olympic swimmers that can actually cross realms—fucking genius, Regina!) to collect a special item from Rumple's shop and bring it back to us, an item that has the power to defeat Pan without any of us dying. However, if a few tweens are killed in the process (sans Henry, of course), well then so be it. They did attack us with pointy sticks coated in deadly poison, after all.

All is fair in war, bitches.

(Plus that one refused my chocolate, even going as far as to toss it into the jungle. Rude.)

This is going to work.

It has to.

Team Evil=1000000000000000 Team Charming=0

XX-Regina

* * *

Damn that mermaid is slow.

Seriously, Rumple and I have been chilling by the beach for literally hours. Talk about boring.

I did, however, allow Rumple to rope me into playing a game of Charades with him.

Nailed that shit.

Diary, don't you ever, _ever _reveal that to anyone! In fact, I might actually enchant you so that no one but me can you read you.

Remind me to do that later, diary, because Rumple and I have mad reps to maintain.

We can't have people knowing that the Dark One and the Evil Queen like to play Charades together while killing time waiting for optimistic mermaids with a disturbing affinity for forks.

We would never live it down, diary.

_Never_.

That evil bastard actually had the audacity to call me out on being jealous of him, because he has someone to love, and I don't.

What an ass.

Why is everyone so set on pushing me to tears lately? First Emma calls me a monster, and then Rumple has to dangle his sickening love-fest in front of my face and brag about having a girlfriend.

I hate this fucking place, diary.

I hate Rumplestiltskin.

I hate the way Emma's head is shoved so far up her ass that she can't see how seriously perfect we are for each other.

* * *

Seriously? I'm supposed to be concerned with some random stranger by the name of Wendy Darling.

Let me just repeat that to you, diary—_Wendy Darling_.

Are you kidding me? That is utterly, disgustingly precious, and I know people named Snow White and Tinkerbell for gods' sake. Just saying.

Ariel returned, thankfully with Pandora's Box in tow, but she also had a message from Belle that went a little something like this:

"Rumple, since you are so incredibly whipped, I demand that you save this Wendy bitch that you don't even know. It's important, and you will do it, Rumple, not only because it's _me_ asking you to, but also because if you don't, then when you return to Storybrooke (because I WILL see you again), I will deny you the bounty between my legs for at least a month. See you soon, Rumpie!"

Okay, so that's not _exactly _what she said, diary, but that is basically what _I_ heard, and Rumple pretty much just smiled and panted like a dog at the mere thought of Belle, and despite my reminding him that Henry was the _only _thing that mattered, he still promised the mermaid that we would save this Wendy chick.

Great.

I miss Emma. Rumple isn't even good to look at. What the hell is he wearing, seriously?

And get that shit off your eye, imp.

At least _I _still look fabulous.

Anyway, Rumple and I are going to implement our extremely intelligent and only slightly wicked plan as soon as possible, which means that if I am lucky, I will be back in Storybrooke by tomorrow.

Keeping my fingers crossed, diary.

XX-Regina


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: THANK YOU to everyone who is reading and reviewing this little crackfic. I appreciate it more than I can say.**

**This chapter doesn't cover the entirety of "Think Lovely Thoughts". It covers up until just after Emma and Regina do magic together. I will cover the end scene with Henry and Pan in the next segment, because I feel it will fit better with that entry.**

**Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! XO-Chrmdpoet**

Regina's Neverland Diary (Continued)

Walking around with Rumple while attempting to locate Pan's camp is an experience beyond words, diary, and by that I mean that there are no words to describe how epically boring and dull it is. It's pretty sad, to be honest, because Rumple used to be a lot more fun. Sure, he throws out the occasional Charades challenge like at the beach, but for the most part, he's a real bore.

It must be the remnant echoes of his Curse persona (given his newfound love of the flat-iron, I'm guessing he digs the whole "Mr. Gold" thing). Can I just say though, diary, that Mr. Gold is far too serious, far too tame, and far too dull to roll with me? Well, he is.

Rumplestiltskin was much more fun before he became Mr. Gold, diary. Back in the Enchanted Forest, Rumple was like my flamboyant best gay friend who wasn't actually gay. He absolutely, openly, and shamelessly adored ruffles, sparkles, crimped hair, high-pitched giggling, glittery skin, lace, high-heeled boots, and dramatic dances and hand flourishes. It was the fucking best!

We actually had a lot of fun together, you know, before we had that little falling out over this, that, and everything in between. (Basically we were constantly fighting over whose magical dick was bigger. I'm sure I don't even have to tell you who won that competition, diary. *insert wink and smirk here*)

Anyway, back when he was still attempting to manipulate me by pretending to be a concerned magical third-party who simply wanted to help me escape my overly controlling mother and my terrible circumstances, and I was too pure and naïve to realize as much, we were tight, diary. We were really tight. He would pop on over to the castle, and we would gossip about the latest dress trends while Rumple braided my hair or taught me some village song to entertain myself with when I was bored. It was like Enchanted Forest style slumber parties.

Those were the days.

Now, though, he's all straight-laced, pressed suits, solemn expressions, and dull sarcasm. I don't think he wants anyone to know that I'm secretly his BFF, but whatever. There is no one else around, so I am not going to pretend.

Rumple and I are extraordinarily skilled at presenting ourselves with poise befitting our statures and reputations; however, when no one else is around, shit gets real. I don't hide my true nature and neither does he, though like I said, his true nature has sadly become more and more like Gold than like Rumple.

Such a shame.

So, at first we tried occupying ourselves by playing a lame game of I Spy, but when every single turn started with, "I spy something green," we figured that that particular game was a waste, and thus, moved quickly on. Then, I decided to get bold and try to have a little girl talk with Rumple, which he quickly shut down, much to my dismay.

"So," I said as I trailed along behind Rumple, "is Belle as innocent as she seems or does she a have a little more Lacey in her than she lets on?"

Rumple sighed far too dramatically than was warranted by the question and asked, "Regina, are you seriously attempting to have this conversation with me?"

"Just wondering if the roles are ever reversed," I told him, shrugging.

"Meaning?" he asked me, and I could tell from the tone of his voice that he was less than amused with this particular conversation. Not like I cared.

"Meaning that _you_ get to be the beauty while Belle plays the part of the beast," I said, snorting loudly as I cracked myself up at that mental image.

He didn't say anything, diary. So predictable.

"Oh, don't get all rumpled, Rumple," I huffed out when he gave me nothing but silence for a full five minutes. "I was just teasing."

Again, diary, he said nothing.

"You're so boring these days," I grumbled as we traipsed along and he continued to be silent. This was going to be even duller than I originally anticipated.

I should have had Ariel grab my damn iPod while she was in Storybrooke.

* * *

Seriously, diary, I would give anything for a drink right about now. You would think that a magical land of fantasy and dreams and wishes and all of that cutesy crap would be more fun, but nope. That would be asking for too much, wouldn't it, diary? Pan is apparently the only villain that gets to have a blast here. The rest of us are just stalking around in the weeds trying to find each other like twisted versions of the ever-nauseating Charmings.

I hate this place.

When Rumple refused to have girl talk with me after approximately (exactly) seven attempts on my behalf, I finally just gave up. I had to think of something to entertain myself though, because I was literally like three seconds away from pulling my hair out, and let's face it, diary, that would have been a tragic loss because my hair is fucking gorgeous. However, I unfortunately was drawing a blank, so I resolved to bury myself in my mental iPod once more.

I sang, too. I didn't give a fuck, diary, because it wasn't like Rumple hadn't heard me sing before anyway. We even used to have karaoke battles with hairbrushes as microphones. Oh gods, I can't believe I just admitted to that. NEVERMIND, DIARY. I LIED. THAT NEVER HAPPENED.

REPEAT: NEVER HAPPENED.

Anyway, my mind was apparently stuck on R&B and Emma Swan, so I sang my evil heart out while Rumple bopped his head along to the music in front of me.

"Mmmm, unh…mmmm, yeah…Baby, I just don't get it. Do you enjoy bein' hurt? I know you smell the perfume, the makeup on his shirt.

You don't believe his stories! You know that they're all lies. Bad as you are, you stick around, and I just don't know why!"

I snapped my fingers as I sang and thought of Emma and Neal and Hook. Those idiots vying for my Swan's heart. Ugh…it only made me pour more of myself into the song, diary. Before I even realized it, I was belting that shit all over Neverland.

"If I was your girl (gender-appropriate lyric change, diary), baby you'd never worry 'bout what I do. I'd be comin' home, back to you every night, doin' you right (insert wicked smirk here).

You're the type of woman, deserves good things. Fistful of diamonds, handful of rings. Baby you're a star. I just wanna show you, you are.

You should let me love you. Let me be the one to give you everything you want and need. Baby—"

Then, of course, Rumple had to cut me off in the middle of my impassioned vocal by loudly clearing his throat and rudely saying, "Regina, perhaps you could sing something not so obviously personal to you before you awaken the entire island and sick a band of demented teens on us."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Rumple," I drawled sarcastically because I was entirely NOT sorry, "was my _incredible_ singing bothering you?"

"Not at all, dearie," he said, which surprised me, but not as much as his next words surprised me. "In fact, Regina, I've always thought you had quite an amazing singing voice. You were just getting a bit loud."

That one threw me, diary. For reals. I was actually kind of flattered if I'm being honest, because let's face it, it takes a hell of a lot to get even the tiniest compliment out of Rumplestiltskin and even then it's usually soaked in sarcasm or disdain.

Knowing that I had actually just been given a genuine compliment from the man significantly improved my mood.

So, yeah, points for me and my awesome voice. CARRYING ON, DIARY!

"Perhaps something more upbeat?" he asked quietly, and I couldn't help the stupid grin on my face. My Rumple was bleeding through boring Mr. Gold, and I was loving it!

I didn't say anything, simply jumping into the first upbeat song that popped into my head, which admittedly, diary, was rather embarrassing.

"Honey came in and she caught me red-handed creepin' with the girl next door. Picture this, we were both butt naked bangin' on the bathroom floor. How could I forget that I had given her an extra key? All this time she was standing there, she ne—"

"Uh, perhaps not that one, dearie," Rumple interrupted and I swear, diary, I literally FELT my cheeks go red in that moment. I cleared my throat loudly and hoped that we both could just forget that that had ever happened at all.

"Well, Rumple, any requests?" I asked him, almost willing to bet my entire fortune that that crazy imp also had a secret love of the addictive music of Emma's world, and boy was I right. (grinning like a fool, diary)

"Do you know any Mariah?" he asked me, and I nearly pissed my pants.

"DO I KNOW ANY MARIAH?" I exclaimed, my voice going like four octaves higher than usual. "Do I know…seriously? You're asking me if I know any Mariah? Have you forgotten everything you once knew about me, Rumple? I am a diva. Divas know of all other divas; therefore, yes, dear, I am very familiar with Mimi."

He nodded as he flourished his hand at me with a flick of his wrist in true Rumple fashion, and I began to filter through my favorite Mariah songs in my head. I'll tell you, diary, the first song that came to mind was "Touch My Body," and I damn near belted that shit out. However, not wanting to risk another moment of awkwardness and embarrassment, I refrained and went for a safer, prettier choice that also reminded me of Emma.

"I didn't mean it when I said I didn't love you so. I shoulda held on tight. I never shoulda let you go. I didn't know nothin'. I was stupid. I was foolish. I was lyin' to myself!

I could not fathom that I would ever be without your love. Never imagined that I'd be sittin' here beside myself. 'Cause I didn't know you. 'Cause I didn't know me, but if I knew everything, I'd never felt…

The feeling that I'm feeling now that I don't hear your voice, or have your touch and kiss your lips 'cause I don't have a choice. Oh, what I wouldn't give to have you lyin' by my side. Right here, 'cause baby, when you left, I lost a part of me. It's still so hard to believe.

Come back baby, please, 'cause we belong together."

Just giving you a little taste of the music, diary.

Shockingly enough, Rumple actually let me finish out that song, but then I nearly passed out when he stopped dead in his tracks, turned around, cocked an eyebrow at me, and asked, "Regina, when did you get so gay?"

Oh gods, shoot me now. I couldn't even deny it, because it was like he just _knew. _He was looking at me with those beady eyes and they were practically screaming, "DON'T DENY IT, REGINA, YOU GIANT LESBIAN!"

So, I just shook my head, sighed, and said, "I know, right?"

I have to get the hell off this island, diary.

XX-Regina

* * *

I'm not exactly sure when or how it happened, but somehow I found myself bitching about my problems to Rumple as we continued our 3,000-year-long trek across Neverland (sarcasm, diary). Oh, and not just any problems—very specific problems—problems that revolved around blonde tangles and raging butch biceps.

Fucking Emma Swan.

Why does she have to be so infuriating and so achingly ignorant?

We have literally spent five full minutes at a time engaged in fiery eye sex, and still, diary, STILL she is off making out with pirates and going on dim-witted rescue missions to save ex-boyfriends. What the hell do I have to do? Drop my pants and scream, "TOUCH IT," or something? Seriously!

Does Rumplestiltskin understand, though, diary? OF COURSE NOT. All his rude-ass can do in my moment of utter annoyance and vulnerability and raging hormones is confirm that his twat-blocking son is indeed alive that he would love nothing more than to put Henry in his arms and have father and son reunited.

Um…excuse me?

Uh uh, I don't _think _so!

Hate to break it to you, imp, but your ugly monkey of a son is nothing but a sperm donor.

Seriously, diary, Rumple is lucky that he's more powerful than me (though not by much), because I could practically feel the fire on my fingertips when he said those words.

* * *

I am going to attempt to write this, diary, without squealing like an immature child; however, internally, I simply can't help myself, because guess who Rumple and I bumped into?!

If you guessed that it was Emma, you guessed correctly.

(Gods help me, I am actually _conversing _with a diary. This island is costing me my sanity. Next thing you know I will be off in the weeds playing with twig dolls like Rumple.)

I nearly smacked Snow in her fairest-of-them-all face when she saw me and blurted out, "What are _you _doing here?"

Are you kidding me, grandma?! I'm _here _to save MY son (well, Emma's and my son). What the hell are _you _doing here? You haven't done anything productive other than trap a tween with some twigs.

Emma, at least, seemed fairly relieved to see me, which I have to admit, diary, made me feel warm and fuzzy in more than one place. *insert wink here*

The warm and fuzzies lasted all of three seconds, though, diary, before the ever-enduring third wheel that is Baelfire, in all the fiery steam of his raging daddy issues, revealed that the malevolent imp that I THOUGHT was my friend was actually there to prevent a prophecy by KILLING my son.

Let me just repeat that to you, diary: Rumplestiltskin _apparently _wasn't there to save Henry, but to kill him.

Rumple denied it, of course, and though I _really _wanted to believe him over Baelfire (who I despised with a fiery passion), I couldn't deny that all of the evidence pointed to the allegation being true.

I'm sure you can imagine my rage, diary.

Words can't even begin to cover it. I was ready to rip apart the entire world and use it to bash that imp's head into oblivion!

I'm pretty sure that Emma would have helped me, too. She had a pretty gnarly snarl going on as she glared at him and went all sexy butch Savior, shouting something along the lines of, "It's not going to happen! You're going to have to go through all of us!"

Gods, she's hot.

Anyway, so Rumple has been forbidden from using magic and FOOLISHLY gave his idiotic son, of all people, Pandora's Box. The second I saw that box pass into Bae's hands, I was positively overwhelmed with this horrible sinking sensation in my stomach. I didn't have to think about what that meant. I knew.

This was going to blow up in our faces.

* * *

Tink took us to Pan's "compound", which is really just a fancy word for Pan's bonfire, and I made sure that all the little Lost idiots knew it was magical naptime. I had neither the time nor the patience to deal with their strange affinity for crowing like roosters and dancing around with sharpened twigs. Take a time out, boys. It's grown-up hour.

Henry, however, was nowhere to be found. We did stumble upon the one and only Wendy Darling, though, diary. Talk about precious (gag).

Apparently, she and Baelfire knew one another. He went straight barbarian on her cage with a rock before sharing an impassioned embrace with the little teeny-bopper, which was awkward to say the least, but whatever. If I had a dime for every fucked-up thing that happened in my life and with this weird rubik's cube of a family, I'd literally be the richest woman on the planet.

It was pretty obvious that the little liar had been on the island for quite some time, because damn…her weave was all kinds of crazy, diary. ALL KINDS. That god-awful night gown she was wearing was also a clear indication. It had to have been from at least a century prior. Yuck. I hope Neverland has a magical wash bin somewhere around here.

Anyway, Rumple practically snapped his fingers diva-style at the girl when he accused her of lying, which she obviously was, but then she easily spilled the beans.

They weren't good beans, diary. They were nasty beans, beans that made me grit my teeth and tighten my fists and bite my tongue to keep from shouting my pure and utter hatred of Peter fucking Pan!

How _dare _he even _think _about taking _my _son's precious heart!

All hell is about to break loose, because if Pan goes anywhere near Henry's heart, shit is going to get seriously real. It will be fifty shades of Evil Queen up in Skull Rock, diary, and trust me, it won't be pretty.

* * *

Emma and I made the executive decisions to leave her idiotic parents behind with Hook and Tink while she and I went to Skull Rock to save _our _son; however, OF COURSE, the perpetual third wheel in our lives insisted that he accompany us.

So, I was just like whatever dark spawn, row the fucking boat.

I will admit, diary, that it was incredibly hard not to get caught up in the moment of a tranquil boat ride with my Swan under a starry sky; however, I kept myself grounded by simply allowing my gaze to fall on the sperm donor every few seconds as a depressing reminder that the world hates me and thus effectively prevented myself from doing something stupid and impulsive like grabbing Emma's hand.

I wanted to though, diary. I mean, I really wanted to. I was already feeling emotional and a little shaken given that we now knew Pan's plans for Henry and we were running out of time. So, yes, it was tempting. I craved the comfort of her hand in mine, but that wasn't the kind of luxury that I had, so I just bit my lip and put my desire aside until we pulled up on the shore of Skull Rock.

Who knew that my desire would explode like a giant fucking sex bomb, though, once we got there?

Oh, surprises, surprises.

XX-Regina

* * *

So, let me break this down the dirty, easy, fast way for you, diary, so that I can get to the good part.

Skull Rock basically went a little something like this: Blah, obstacles, blah.

Okay, so now that you're clued in, allow me to fill you in on the complete and utter ovary explosion that I experienced once we got there.

I know, I know—I shouldn't be having sheer orgasmic moments when my son's life is at stake, but it wasn't like I planned that shit, diary. I didn't _mean _for it to happen. It wasn't even my idea!

Anyway, so Rumple went ahead because he could walk through Pan's idiotic enchantment that would only let people without shadows pass, and then Emma actually managed to have the brilliant idea of causing an eclipse that would block out the moon and rid us of our shadows so that we, too, could pass ahead.

The Savior definitely has her moments, diary. They are few and far between, but they _do _exist.

However, I will say that I was simultaneously annoyed and turned on by the suggestion. I was annoyed because Emma basically was like, "Hey Regina, make the moon disappear," like it was the easiest thing in the world to just, you know, REARRANGE THE PLANETS!

Oh sure, let me jump right on that. *rolling eyes, diary*

At the same time though, I was insanely aroused at the mere idea that Emma seemed to have absolutely no doubts that _I _was powerful and strong enough to alter things in space.

Talk about an ego boost. That shit was getting thoroughly petted, and damn it felt good.

So hot, diary. So _fucking _hot.

Anyway, it wasn't like causing an eclipse was an easy task, so I unfortunately had to ask for help. Asking for help is not really in my nature, diary, but I at least felt a little better about it being Emma that I needed help from. She seemed thoroughly surprised by the request, but quickly jumped to follow my lead.

Baelfire (the supposed Neverland expert) was a perfect footstool throughout the entire conversation as he sat on a rock and drooled. Thanks for being so super helpful, Loserfire.

Shut up, diary. It was all I could think of.

I could feel Emma's magic buzzing vibrantly right beside me, and as soon as it touched and began to tangle with mine, I just completely flooded my panties.

I was helpless to stop it, diary. It was like some strange yet glorious form of magical mutual masturbation, and I swear I thought my vagina was just going to explode (in the best way).

Emma and I might as well have been having sex, diary. Granted, it was like silent, touch-less sex, but still…if our combined magic was having anywhere near the same effect on her as it was having on me, then we were totally having mental sex with each other in that very moment. Neither one of us admitted it, though.

When I saw that shadow start to creep across the moon, though, and realized that we were _actually _doing it, that we were _actually moving planets together_, I'm positive I orgasmed, diary. I orgasmed so hard that I'm shocked I stayed on my feet.

And you may think that that is an exaggeration or perhaps an extreme response to something as "simple" as performing magic together, but diary, you would be so, _so _wrong. You would be wrong, because I think I realized in that moment that my connection to and feelings for Emma Swan far exceeded simple likability, sexual desire, and common interests.

I mean, think about it. We _moved planets together. _(TAKE THAT, BAELFIRE! WHAT WHAT!)

There are two four-letter words swirling around in my head right now, diary, and though they scare the hell out of me, I can't help but think that they are the _only _possible explanation for Emma and I having been able to do what we did.

True Love, diary.

Could it really be possible? Could Emma be my…


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hello friends. It's been nice to finally get back to this story. Since 3x09 was such a wonderful episode, I couldn't stop writing, so I decided to split Regina's diary coverage of the episode into two different chapters. Here is the first one. I hope you enjoy! XO-Chrmdpoet**

Regina's Neverland Diary (Continued)

And so the Savior and the Evil Queen raised their hands to the sky and darkness descended upon the land. They looked upon what they had done and saw that it was good.

Ha, just kidding, diary. I mean, yes, that _did _actually happen, but we didn't really have time to reflect on what we had done. As soon as our shadows were thrust into nonexistence, we were sprinting up the stone steps of Skull Rock's makeshift two-story stairwell.

I didn't have time to contemplate my complete and utter arousal from the gods-like magic that Emma and I had performed together while awkwardly in the presence of a peeping Baelfire.

I didn't even have a sufficient amount of time to stop and engage in fiery (and certainly earned) eye-coitus with my Swan. Stupid Pan and his dastardly plans, preying on my precious son.

I was thoroughly surprised when we made it to the top to discover that the second story of Skull Rock was not just another of Pan's cozy little bungalows/bonfires teeming with underage persons. No, it much more resembled a giant game board, what with the massive hourglass in the center of the room.

Is that what the little bastard was always talking about with that "Let's play" crap?

*rolling eyes, diary* No, Peter. We're not going to play Pictionary with you.

I can just imagine the kind of lame pictures Pan would draw as clues.

Okay, nevermind. I'll play. Flip the hourglass. Go! (A dog? A dog eating a rainbow? Wait, is that you? Is that _you _eating a rainbow? Oh, no, wait! It's a heart! A rainbow heart? Shit, time's up.)

I don't play Pictionary, diary. I see rainbows in too many things. Obviously, I have gained far too much exposure whilst in Neverland to the cute and cuddly rays constantly beaming off of Snow White.

I'm drowning in it.

Anyway…

I was also surprised by the fact that Rumple was strangely nowhere to be found. Oh gods, diary. I can't even.

What if Rumple was hypnotized or tricked by another of Pan's shadow's weird kinks and ran off to frolic in the weeds again with a faux version of his precious Belle? Great, I'm going to have to save his impy ass again.

What _really _shocked the hell out of me though, diary, was that when we arrived, my darling son was standing only inches from Pan's face, looking like he was on the verge of playing a little tonsil hockey with the shadiest of them all, and holding his own gorgeous and glowing golden heart in his hand.

What the hell, Henry?

Momma doesn't care if you're gay, honey. He's a dashing young man to be sure, despite his strange affinity for tights, and the accent certainly doesn't hurt, but he's not who you think he is!

(And even if he was, son, you don't have to _literally _give someone your heart as an act of love. It's a metaphor, darling. Metaphors are good.)

I know your Charming blood pushes you to see nothing but rainbow-colored opportunities to be a hero, but rage against the fucking biology, son, and see what is right in front of you.

Just say no, Henry!

Just. Say. NO!

* * *

Well, diary, I'm sure you can guess what happened next. Henry did not, in fact, say NO.

No matter how we (I am referring only to myself and Emma, diary, because I refuse to acknowledge that dark spawn worm, Baelfire, and his pathetic attempts at usurping the role of parent in Henry's life) tried to reason with him, to explain to him that Pan was lying, that we were there for him, that we believed in him, and that we loved him more than anything, he simply wouldn't listen. He was too far under Pan's creepy influence.

So, I watched as my baby turned and slammed his golden heart into Pan's chest in a champion jousting move, but with an arm instead of a lance.

Not exactly the time, place, or way to practice princely sports, dear.

My brain instantly flashed back to nights of enduring that animated _Hercules _movie that Henry was obsessed with for months. All I could hear were the fates getting their diva on as they sang "Zero to Hero" and all I could see was Henry bopping up and down on the couch as he sang along and cheered for the scrawny guy that became the bulky hero.

Gods-damned Disney movies and their subliminal messages—CHILDREN, GO OUT AND SACRIFICE YOURSELVES!

The instant Henry's heart was in Pan's chest, diary, everything completely and utterly went to shit.

My precious boy keeled over as if Tink had magically popped up out of nowhere and blew a cloud of poppy pollen in his face.

Baelfire waddled around pointlessly. (Color me shocked, diary.)

Pan hovered around with a maniacal grin and gloated of his victory while tossing around Pandora's Box. (Guess where Rumple was, diary? Yeah, he was in the box.)

Seriously…amateur hour.

Emma growled her disapproval and used Baelfire's toy sword to give that little asshole adolescent the equivalent of a paper cut.

Then the demon teen flew away—swooping ominously out of the giant rock eye socket of the poorly constructed massive fossil we unfortunately found ourselves hanging out in.

And I wept over my son while simultaneously casting an enchantment to preserve his body until we could safely return his heart to his chest.

I'm not exactly sure what it was, diary, but something inside me just snapped as I looked over Henry's motionless form.

Dread, fear, rage, and sorrow ripped through my chest and devoured my heart in that moment and within seconds I found myself shouting at Emma.

I didn't mean to. It just happened.

I don't even remember what she said to me. I just remember the horribly pained look on her face when I screamed the words, "My son is dying!"

Her expression in that moment, diary, was absolutely heartbreaking as she brokenly corrected me by saying, "Our son."

I wanted to be in that moment with her. I really did. I wanted to say, "You're right. He is _our _son. We're in this together." But I didn't feel that way, diary; not right then. No, all I could feel in that moment was my own despair, my own fear, and my own need of my son.

All I could see was Emma's little interactions with that monkey, Baelfire, and my mind kept flashing back to her kiss with the pirate, and then suddenly, in that moment, she wasn't the woman I felt myself falling for anymore. She was the enemy. She was the woman who had everything I didn't have, and the woman who could so easily take everything from me.

So, when Emma claimed to know what I was feeling, I simply exploded, diary. I was helpless to stop it, because no…she didn't know.

She didn't have a clue.

Henry was ALL I had. He was everything. He _is _everything.

In our (Emma's and mine) tense and heated moment, diary, Baelfire was so overwhelmed by the pure animal magnetism and desire between the Swan and myself (even in the midst of tragedy) that he had to scurry halfway across Skull Rock just to provide us the space we required to breathe heavily and stare intently at one another.

That's right, sperm donor. Clear the room. No one invited you anyway.

My anger (at Emma, at least) quickly subsided as she dropped to a knee beside me with nothing but pure understanding her eyes (I don't get that look often, diary) and told me that I was right.

And then, unexpectedly, Emma Swan, a _Charming_ mind you, offered me complete control over the situation and our subsequent actions. She offered me the lead. She offered me…her trust.

In that moment of game-changing truth and trust, diary, the entire world seemed to still and my heart cracked wide open to spill forth the angelic R&B sounds of K-CI & JoJo.

_All my liiiiife, I prayed for someone like you, and I thank God that I, that I finally found you._

_All my liiiiife, I prayed for someone like you, and I hope that you feel the same way too._

_Yes, I pray that you do love me too._

Unfortunately, diary, that precious moment lasted only about a half-second before the bumbling thorn in my side, Baelfire, decided that his ex-girlfriend's and my giant bubble of unspoken love and rising sexual tension desperately needed bursting.

Thanks for being that ever-enduring auto-refill bucket of ice water, Bae.

He was all "Blah, blah, Pan's too powerful, blah. I'm just a whiny mortal with no magical power and a beer gut. Love me Emma."

It was in _that _moment, diary, that Emma's gorgeous emerald eyes turned away from the monkey and locked with mine, and those soft (at least they look that way) lips asked what _I _thought we should do.

And of course my answer was predictable, though I would argue that it was perfectly appropriate given the circumstances.

Kill him. (Pan, not Baelfire. Then again, diary…)

* * *

The trek back to Pan's compound seemed to take centuries. I did my best to ignore the fact that my son was dying and tried to remain positive (_really _not my forte, diary.) It helped, though, that Emma was there to distract me. I think she sensed that I needed said distraction, because she seemed rather content to ignore her ex and engage me in conversation instead.

As we walked along through the jungle, I kept Henry's body levitated and moving in front of us because I didn't want the monkey lugging him around over his shoulder the entire time.

I didn't care much for the fact that Baelfire could hear every word exchanged between Emma and I, because it kept me from being able to relax and just let her in, but there was unfortunately nothing I could do about that.

Well, there _were many things _I could actually do about that, but none that would earn me anything more or less than eternal damnation in the eyes of my son and his birthmother.

"I made magic, by the way," Emma said in a whisper, her eyes darting toward me as if seeking approval. "I mean by myself."

I didn't even know what the hell she was talking about, diary, but my heart swelled with pride anyway. I had the sudden serious urge to clap my hands together like an excited child and then I had an even more sudden and serious urge to grab Emma's face and devour it.

I might have actually done it, too, were Baelfire not all up in the middle of our special moment being a permanent twat-block. I swear, diary…between Rumple's idiotic offspring, the bushy-eyebrowed pirate, and the Charmings, I could not catch a break.

"When?" I asked her.

"When we caught Pan's shadow," she told me. "We had to light that damn coconut lamp thing, and Hook and Neal lost the lighter, and then shadows came out of nowhere and were attacking us, and well I just…I swooshed my hand and the candle lit."

I couldn't help the laugh that escaped me at Emma's phrasing. "You swooshed your hand?" I asked her, unable to stop the grin that was continually growing on my face.

"Oh yeah, just like you taught me," she said, and then she winked at me.

If arousal was a volcano, diary, then my body was molten and on the verge of erupting. That smile and that wink…my flesh was positively buzzing and my heart was hammering in my chest.

Good gods, the spawn of Snow White was going to be the death of me, and I hadn't even kissed her yet.

"That's wonderful, Emma," I told her, because I didn't really know what else to say.

It seemed like saying, "You did magic? Take off your pants and let me reward you," might have been a little over the top for the moment, diary, and perhaps too soon in our developing relationship. Thus, I refrained.

"Yeah," she said quietly, giving me a soft smile. "Are you…"

"Am I what?" She looked vulnerable, diary, and like she wanted to ask me something that was important to her, but she didn't want to ask in front of Baelfire or perhaps she was worried of how I would respond.

She just shook her head and mumbled a quick, "Nevermind."

Taking a stab at it, I quietly said, "For whatever it's worth, Emma, I'm quite proud of you."

Oh, diary…_oh_.

Words cannot even express the sheer magnitude of my combined emotional joy and sexual desire when the most incredible smile blasted across her face, her cheeks blushed, and she nodded at me. "Yeah, it's worth a lot," she said.

Let me just repeat that for you, diary. She said that _my _pride in her was "worth a lot."

Was I dreaming, diary? Was I dreaming up these little moments of affection and near-romance with the one and only Savior?

NO. No, I wasn't. That shit was real. It _really _happened.

My feels exploded, diary. EX-PLO-DED. They're still exploding.

I know Emma has her emo pirate and her ex-sperm donor vying for her heart, but if it's not too egotistical, then can I just say that I am totally and firmly on TEAM REGINA.

I think, dare I say it, diary…I think I might _actually _have a chance.

TEAM REGINA FOR THE WIN!

XX-RM

* * *

"So," Emma said, "tell me a story."

"Excuse me?" I asked her as we walked side by side behind Henry's levitated body, our shoulders brushing. Baelfire shuffled loudly behind us, but I did my best to pretend that he wasn't there; like maybe he fell into a hungry puddle of quicksand several paces back. Oops.

A girl can dream, right diary?

"Tell me a story," she said again. "I've been jabbering on about anything and everything from Freddy Krueger's striped sweater to the differences between jam and jelly. I feel like I'm going insane. So please…tell me a story."

I sighed dramatically though I could feel the corners of my mouth quirking up because it was true that she had been rambling madly, but I didn't have the heart or the humility to admit that I didn't have the vaguest clue as to who Freddy Krueger was nor did I give a damn about his striped sweater.

"Very well, dear," I relented because I, too, could sense that she needed a distraction from the obvious tragedy floating ahead of us, something other than her own voice. "What type of story?"

"Can I hear something from when you adopted Henry?" she asked, surprising me. "Or like from when he was growing up?"

I smiled because my brain instantly drifted back to those first timid days when I had become a new mother, and I was rather surprised to realize that I actually _wanted _to share those memories with Emma.

However, diary, I'm sure you can imagine my disdain at also realizing that to share with Emma in that moment meant to share with Baelfire as he could hear every word.

I certainly did _not _feel comfortable sharing those precious memories with _him_. So, I shook my head in answer to Emma's request, and my heart actually ached at the disappointment in her eyes.

And then a genius idea struck me, diary, though admittedly, I was rather nervous about what I was about to do. Still, I forged ahead, forcing myself to suck in a steadying breath and just go for it.

So, I held out my hand and hoped that she would take it.

"Take my—" I started to say, but Emma was way ahead of me, diary. Her hand slapped into mine without hesitation and without command, almost like she _wanted _to hold my hand.

Okay stop, Regina. You are reading into it.

Am I, though? Am I _really_?

Surely I cannot be so desperate or deluded as to be _imagining _all of the little moments between Emma and I—the simple touches on the arm, the small smiles, the understanding, the confidence, and even the trust.

Oh, and let's not forget the giant moments, diary—the whole "saving the world" together thing (okay, so not the "world" but Storybrooke at least); the transcending realms thing; the grand mission to save our son thing.

Shall I go on, diary? No, I didn't think so.

Definitely not my imagination.

Gods, I have _got _to stop talking to a damn diary, and to myself for that matter. This island is robbing my sanity like Baelfire robbed Emma's cradle. I'm not a fan of either of those.

Once Emma's hand was in mine, I closed my eyes briefly to summon up the memories of a few of my favorite moments with Henry as an infant, and then I used my magic to send the images directly into Emma's brain.

I opened my eyes again as I heard her soft gasp and watched her own eyes clamp closed.

I kept my hand clasped in hers as I led her along through the Neverland jungle while she watched a mental reel of my memories, and my heart was pounding so hard that I was pretty sure it might just rip through my flesh and scurry away into the weeds somewhere.

I don't even know why. I suppose it was because I felt rather exposed and vulnerable in the moment, but as soon as I saw that gentle smile on Emma's lips and then heard her soft laughter, it was like my entire body just relaxed.

She opened her eyes then and looked at me, diary, and I was shocked to see that there were tears in her eyes.

"Little prince," she whispered, having seen my memories of me calling Henry my little prince, and that was it. That was all it took, diary.

I was dead. Melted into a hot puddle of goo.

We stared at each other for at least two full minutes, diary, and those two minutes were practically overflowing with affection; charged by our growing and undoubtedly epic, yet unfortunately unspoken (and even more unfortunately unacted upon) love.

She slipped her hand from mine and I instantly wished she hadn't, but I watched as her eyes cut over her shoulder for only a moment to the living and breathing annoyance behind us before they came back to settle on me once more.

We didn't say anything, diary, but that doesn't mean that the words weren't there.

I think we might actually be feeling the same thing for each other.

Gods help me.

* * *

By the time we made it back to Pan's bonfire, the enchantment that I had cast on Henry's body to keep it preserved without his heart had only about an hour left before it fizzled out, and so you can imagine my panic, diary.

I was having a complete internal meltdown. I hated it.

I felt shaky and sick to my stomach, and I was getting that gross anxiety sweat on my lower back and under my boobs. Not cute, diary. Not cute at all (and not condusive to seduction of a Savior).

My heart was a hammering mess as we toiled over how to find that sniveling rat Pan so that we could get Henry's heart back, and that was when I saw that fucking snarly-faced lost boy, Felix, sitting there smug as could be and all but laughing at us.

And oh diary…I just completely lost my shit.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hello friends. Thank you all for your wonderful reviews. I appreciate them so much.**

**As of right now, I am going to call this the last chapter of this little crackfic seeing as how it is entitled Regina's NEVERLAND Diary. I may decide to extend the entries into Storybrooke after watching some of the new episodes, or I may just leave it at this. For now, though, I am going to call this complete.**

**Also, strangely enough, I will warn anyone who reads this chapter that there are spoilers for the movie Moulin Rouge. **

**Thank you all for reading, and I hope you've enjoyed it. XO-Chrmdpoet**

Regina's Neverland Diary (continued)

I stomped furiously toward the sniveling brat and was growling in his face within seconds. He, of course, refused to disclose Pan's location, and Henry was running out of time. I had absolutely no patience for the careless little snot, nor did I have any fucks to give in that moment, so I did what came naturally.

If he wasn't going to give me what I needed, then I was going to take it. My son's _life _was on the line, and I didn't care if plunging my fist into the teen's chest made me look like a monster or not. In my humble opinion, diary, it was much more monstrous to laugh in a woman's face about the fact that a child, her son, was dying. So, _really_…who was the real villain in that equation?

Not me, diary. Certainly not me.

Of course, though, just as my hand was about to slam into the flesh of Felix's chest (undoubtedly in need of a wash, diary), I felt fingers close strongly around my arm and pull me back. Had it been anyone else's hand, diary; had it been anyone else's desperate plea of "Regina, wait," I wouldn't have stopped. I know I wouldn't have.

I would've just plowed right through their hold, shrugging them off and digging into the boy's chest anyway to get what I needed. But it wasn't just anyone, diary.

It was Emma.

And I hate to admit it, but other than Henry, Emma Swan is my only weakness.

She's like a tall, blonde, sexy chunk of kryptonite, except she doesn't make me sick. Quite the opposite, diary. She makes me so, _so…_

Well, not sick.

She makes me weak, of course—in the best and worst ways. Weak knees; weak, rapid stutter of a heartbeat; weak resolve.

Ugh. Somebody stop me. I sound like a pathetic school girl with a crush.

ANYWAY, diary. Emma stopped me and begged me to consider dealing with the band of rowdy teens in a different manner.

And then, without hesitation, Emma offered those boys something she, herself, had never truly known; until recently, I suppose.

My heart nearly exploded out of my chest, diary. Seriously, it was singing in my ribcage, desperate to leap out of my flesh and dance dizzily around the jungle as I listened to my idiot Swan offer those boys a home, a mother, a family.

I was so conflicted in that moment, diary. On the one hand, I couldn't help but think that Emma had lost her damn mind. Did she have any idea how difficult it would be to discipline those boys, to even reacclimatize them to civilized living again after gods only know how long on this island under the supervision of yet another adolescent?

Really, Emma dear, they are actual people, not stray puppies. You can't just squish their little cheeks and decide to drag them home.

Then again, I'm sure the insufferable Snow keeps plenty of kibble and birdseed on hand for the thousands of woodland and other creatures she undoubtedly attracts on a daily basis.

And for _herself_.

Ha.

Anyway, diary, on the other hand, I couldn't help but to also be in complete awe of her. The look in her eyes, the crack in her voice, the sincerity in her promise; gods, her heart was right on her tongue in that moment.

I ached for her, diary—for the fact that she had so much pure and beautiful love to give and had had no one to give it to for so long.

And what made me ache even further with that realization was the fact that _I_, also, had lived so many years with so much love to give and no one to give it to. I'd thought myself incapable of loving for a very long time after I lost Daniel, but I'd been wrong.

I just needed the right trigger to open my heart again and flood some of the world's goodness back into it—and Henry was that flood.

And Emma? She was the gods-damned tidal wave that slammed into my life and into my heart when I was least expecting it; after the waters had calmed.

She destroyed everything that my life had been before I met her.

And strangely enough, diary, my landscape now seems so much more beautiful in the aftermath of that destruction.

Maybe…maybe she is rebuilding me.

* * *

Much to Felix's dismay (*insert wicked smirk here*), the other little lost boys sang like Snow's bluebirds as soon as Emma promised them a safe home in Storybrooke, and we finally had Pan's location.

I may have actually creamed my panties a bit, diary, when Emma walked up to her pudgy, puppy-eyed ex, and basically said, "Nah bitch. You're not invited. Regina and I got this."

Okay, so…she didn't _actually _say that, diary. BUT she did, in fact, tell him to stay behind, that she and I would go and take care of it together.

Together.

_Together._

Just pounding the point home there.

And the way she had looked at me just after she told him to stay behind, diary…*sigh*.

Her gaze had seared into me in that moment, and I saw so much in those emerald eyes. It was like she was practically begging me to be alone with her, desperate for it to just be the two of us.

My heart had a total princess moment when she turned that gaze on me, diary.

I could feel the damn thing swooning in my chest.

My vagina, on the other hand, had an entirely different reaction. It was basically drumming out a rhythm of _bow chicka wow wow. _

Oh, but then of course Snow Third-Wheel White had to pull the sappy mommy card and be all, "But I'm going to be stuck in Neverland forever, abandoning you by my own choice again, Emma, so if you think I'm just going to sit here and let you spend our last day together with _Regina _instead of me, well you are just wrong, missy. Whine, bitch, mope, whine, cry."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes when I saw Emma's shoulders slump right before she agreed to let Snow accompany us on our little hunt.

And of course, Snow, in all her epic childish glory, cut me a smug little look that practically screamed, "Ha, take that, life-ruiner."

In a moment of weakness, diary, I sunk to Snow's level, returned her glare full force, and thought, "Great, sure. Tag along, fun-sucker."

Then, for some reason (most likely because all of my time on this gods-forsaken island is driving me fucking bonkers, diary), my head spiraled into a random mental outburst of name-calling.

I could easily imagine all of the lame and elementary-grade names Snow would toss my way.

She would be like, "Regina, you're a meanie!"

I would yawn and say, "Oh, so creative, dear. At least I am not an insufferable child."

"Evil Person!" she'd bark immaturely.

"Ouch, Snow. So original and deep. Shouldn't you be off singing to your bunnies and bluebirds in one of your frilly dresses and bright red cutesy hair ribbons, looking like one of the faux adolescents on that _To Catch a Predator _show?"

"Oh wait," I would add. "You can't quite do that anymore, can you Snow? No, no, I'm afraid not. That lovely, long hair of yours is gone now. I told you on the day of your wedding, dear, that you would lose everything you loved. _Everything_." (*insert maniacal cackle here, diary*)

*gasp* "You…You…CURSE-CASTER!"

"Now you are just complimenting me, dear."

Sorry about that, diary. I got a little caught up there for a moment.

Shit, where did they go?

I've got to go, diary. I have to catch up to my Swan and her pain of a mother. Bitches just left me here to stew in my wickedness (more like wicked sense of humor *wink*).

XX-Regina

* * *

Oh gods, help me.

HELP ME, DIARY! S-O-S!

I am literally writing this as I walk, diary, because Snow White is_ killing_ me. She is literally killing me and she hasn't even laid a hand on me.

Seriously, we're trekking through the gods-damned jungle (yet again, diary; yet again) on our way to this fucking Thinking Tree or whatever, and Snow decides that the long walk would be a good time to try and give Emma "the talk."

Snow, for reals…your daughter is almost twenty-nine years old. She doesn't need your advice when it comes to sex or dating. She birthed my child for fuck's sake. I think she knows how it works. Furthermore, you are embarrassing the ever-loving hell out of your daughter right now.

I can only see the side of it, diary, but from what I can see, Emma's face is as bright red as Snow's heart, pre-manipulative murder of my mother.

I can't help but feel bad for her, diary, because I, myself, am embarrassed as hell right now and I'm not even in the vicinity of Snow's focus (thank the gods).

I don't even know what the hell she was thinking. I mean, we were doing perfectly fine before she decided to open her mouth. There was a mostly comfortable silence, only slightly tense, as we made our way through the jungle, and then out of fucking nowhere, Snow just decided to blurt out a question that simultaneously made Emma choke on her own saliva and made me want to run as far away as possible.

"So, Emma, do you think that you and Neal will have any more children?" she'd asked. "You didn't sleep with him while he was in Storybrooke with Tamara, did you, honey? I mean, I certainly wouldn't blame you considering the whole David-Kathryn debacle, but I hope you waited."

"The hell, MM?!" Emma finally managed to blurt out, and diary, I couldn't help but to nod my head frantically in agreement, because well…seriously, what the HELL?!

"Oh, honey, don't be shy," Snow told her, to which I simply rolled my eyes and hoped that the woman would stumble upon her sense sometime soon and shut the hell up. She didn't. "It's just us girls here now, and while I'm sure that you would rather not speak of such things in front of Regina, there isn't much I can do about that, and we don't have much time left together, you know."

"Thank you, Snow," I drawled dryly. "I feel so incredibly included now."

Emma laughed awkwardly at that, but I think she was just desperate for any possible distraction she could find, diary. I didn't blame her at all.

"_Anyway,_" Snow continued, rudely ignoring me, "I know it's been a while since you've been with anyone, Emma, but I'm glad that you finally admitted that you still loved Neal. I think you two and Henry will make a lovely family, and of course, the sex is just so much better with someone that you love."

"Oh my gods, Snow," I snapped. I couldn't hold it in anymore at that point. "I know you don't have much experience with being a mother, but this is not the way to go about it, dear."

"Oh, and whose fault is that, Regina?" she barked at me angrily.

"Yes, yes, dear, it's all my fault," I grumbled, "but for the sake of my gag reflex, Snow, stop talking about sex. Stop asking about sex. In fact, I never want to hear the word 'sex' come out of your mouth again."

I chanced a glance at Emma then, diary, and I could tell she was holding back a laugh despite the fact that her face was still entirely red.

And then, of course, my entire body erupted in now-familiar tingles when she said, "Regina's right."

Let the choir sing, diary. It was a joyous moment, indeed.

Snow gasped as I chuckled, and then Emma said, "Not about the mother thing, sorry. I just meant that I don't really feel comfortable talking about that stuff. And just for the record, I'm not together with Neal, and I don't plan on being with him anytime soon, if ever. And no, we haven't…we didn't sleep together. Not since Henry was conceived."

TRIUMPH, DIARY!

I _really _didn't want to know if Emma was sleeping with Neal, but at the same time I kind of _really _wanted (needed) to know. And the Savior herself had just confirmed that she had not, in fact, been sleeping with the dark spawn.

"I've uh…I've actually kind of had my eye on someone else for a while," Emma then said.

I seriously considered creating magical fireworks in that moment, diary, just to express my pure joy at having learned such a fun little fact.

But then, of course, it all went to hell again when I realized that that person may not be me, and on top of that, Snow had one of her many tantrums.

She completely flew off the handle about Neal being Emma's True Love, despite the fact that there is positively no evidence supporting such a claim.

Stop trying to sell my Swan to the monkey, Snow!

And that brings us back to now, diary.

Snow is still rambling. Emma is still ignoring her and blushing wildly, and I am still dying slowly on the inside from sheer frustration and embarrassment for both myself and Emma.

Like I said, diary. S-O-S.

* * *

Snow is sighing. Great, maybe she's finally giving up. Oh, nope, she's just going for a different course of questioning.

"So, who is he?" she asks.

Oh hell. I'm having a complete Scooby fucking Doo moment, diary. My ears are perking up rigidly. I'm helpless to stop it! I have to know!

Emma isn't saying anything, though.

RUH-ROH. (Sorry, diary. Still stuck in Scooby-Doo mode.)

"I never said it was a 'he'."

"WHAT?!" Shit. Shit. That came out of my mouth before I could stop it.

* * *

Diary, now that the moment has passed, I can tell you…after my unfortunate little outburst, Emma stared at me curiously for what felt like an eternity, and I could practically feel my embarrassment burning in my cheeks.

Wait for it, though, diary.

While Snow was firing off a million questions a minute, Emma ignored her and she smiled at me instead.

She _smiled _at me, and as if that wasn't enough, diary…

She very subtly winked at me. SHE WINKED. SHE FUCKING WINKED.

Who does that?! I'll tell you who, diary. People who want to fuck you!

Was that a confession, diary? Was Emma trying to tell me that it was me that she was interested in?!

Oh gods.

I'm dying, and yet my entire body is humming with pleasure.

It's like some weird form of auto-erotic asphyxiation. I'm choking on my own feelings, diary, but it feels so damn good that I don't want it to stop.

Emma Swan—stop with your strange orgasm/death-inducing winks and just LOVE ME already!

Oh hell, diary. Are you listening to me? Are you seeing this? I seriously have to get the hell off of this island. I'm legitimately losing my shit.

* * *

How in the hell did Snow White _ever _manage to thwart me, diary? Granted, it was only once, and I easily paid her back with the curse, but my gods, how dimwitted and naïve can one person be?

No, seriously, how the hell was this woman ever a "queen"?

This entire island has literally been one trap after another, and yet we walk into the clearing surrounding this supposed "Thinking Tree", and there is yet another _extremely obvious _trap on display and waiting for us.

Does Snow heed my advice to be cautious though, diary?

Of course not.

She just went a-skipping on over to Pandora's Box like "Tra la la la la!" and next thing I knew, I was strapped to a tree by a giant arm of vines with Emma next to me and Snow on her other side.

Way to go, Idiot #1. You have successfully proven, once again, that you truly deserve that nickname.

Pan, of course, showed up with his smug little grin and his creepy leap-frog eyebrows, spouting off about parenting and regrets and Rumple being his son.

WHOA! WAIT! WHAT?!

I know. I know, diary. My mind is equally blown.

Peter Pan, the child monster, is actually the child _father _of my best non-gay gay, Rumplestiltskin, which in turn, makes him the child great-grandfather of my son, Henry.

Which makes this entire situation so incredibly wrong that my brain can hardly process it.

I mean, seriously, diary?! This family was complicated before, but now it is all kinds of fucked up.

ALL KINDS.

I just…I can't even…

I'm still waiting to wake up, diary. I'm still waiting for someone to shake me awake and inform me that I somehow accidentally tripped and fell into a vat of hallucinogenic acid and have been trapped inside the most unfortunate dream for days.

Because really, diary, I feel like I am legitimately trippin'.

Rumple has _a lot _of explaining to do.

* * *

I fully hulked out on Pan, diary, and it felt so good that I would've done it twice if I could have.

He was blabbing on and on about how his special friend (the tree) would never let us go because we were all horrible parents and had done horrible things, and we all had far too many regrets for the tree to feed on for it to ever let us go.

Seriously?

Yeah, no. That wasn't working for me. My son was dying, and the only thing standing between that and me saving his life was a fucking vine and a teenager.

So naturally, diary, I was like, I DON'T THINK SO.

I will say that it was a good thing that the tree fed on regrets and not on remorse. I certainly have remorse for some of the terrible things I've done and the many losses. There is no denying that, but I don't have any regrets.

I can't regret the things I've done, because they all eventually led me to Henry, and to Emma.

I busted through that vine like it was a pathetic little string of paper dolls, slammed my fist so forcefully into that bastard's chest that he nearly toppled over, and yanked out my precious baby boy's beautiful heart.

Seriously? That was all it took? I thought Pan was supposed to be this big, terrible, horrible, monstrous villain that not even the Dark One or the Evil Queen could conquer unless they joined forces and utilized their most powerful magic?

Yeah, one fist to the chest, and the bitch went down.

Not such a formidable foe after all.

I beat his scrawny ass, so there was no way that Pan was too strong for the Dark One. Rumple was obviously just being a big baby with daddy issues.

I had to physically resist the urge to let out one of my loud and maniacal EQ laughs as I watched Pan collapse on the jungle floor, diary.

It was a supremely satisfying sight, as were the looks of absolute awe on both Emma's and Snow's faces as I turned back to them with Henry's heart in one hand and Pandora's Box in the other.

Oh yeah, TEAM REGINA FOR THE WIN! *insert wild roars of an enthusiastic crowd*

Now, let's get the fuck out of here and off of this gods-forsaken island.

XX-Regina

* * *

My hands wouldn't stop shaking as I pushed Henry's heart back into his chest, diary, but when he opened his beautiful brown eyes and sucked in that first gasp of air, of life, my entire body flooded with relief.

Emma and I simultaneously yanked him into our arms, and then without even realizing what we were doing, we were suddenly holding each other—all of us, like a real family. That moment meant so much more to me than I can even express. She was crying, and I was crying, and Henry was breathing.

Thank gods he was breathing, and he was in our arms again. Safe. He was safe. (I was so happy in that moment, diary, that I easily pushed aside my need to smack Henry upside the head and be like, "Really? _Really_?")

As we held him, diary, I kept my head tucked down, but just before it was decided that Henry required a little rest, I glanced up.

I glanced up, diary, and my entire body broke out in tingles like I was being assaulted by a trillion giant feathers, and there were butterflies the size of pterodactyls swooping around inside my stomach.

Emma was looking at me. She was looking right at me, and the look in her eyes, diary…oh gods, it was incredible.

It was soft.

It was appreciative.

It was deep.

It was love, diary. It was _love_, and not just for our son, but for me.

She didn't say it, and I didn't need her to in that moment. I could see it, and even if she never admitted it, even if we never confessed or acted upon our passion for one another, our _care _for one another, I knew it was there. I think we both knew it was there.

It _had been_ for a lot longer than either of us realized, I think.

Swoon. Melt. Sigh.

I had to stop my brain from spewing out love songs in that moment, diary, because my mind's desperate need to mentally turn my life into a musical was dangerously on the verge of converting me into a living, breathing version of Moulin Rouge. Next thing you know, I'll be dancing on top of a giant elephant and singing "Come What May."

Thankfully, my life is not an actual replica of said musical, because I'd be hella pissed if Snow forced Emma into prostitution and tried to marry her off to some ugly duke (the latter is rather possible; *cough* sperm donor *cough*). I'd also be pissed if I was a penniless writer who cried every five seconds and fell in love with said prostitute only to have her die on me.

Oh gods, I want to cry just thinking about it.

That movie fucked me up so hard, diary.

So hard.

* * *

I had to shake my head as I was heading down to the Captain's quarters to tuck Henry in, because I could hear everyone talking out their theories on how to get Rumple out of his little prison.

I literally had to choke down my laughter as I heard Snow ask, "Is there a crank or something on the box?"

Oh my gods, idiot. It's not a magical Rumple-in-the-Box. There isn't a crank you can turn so that the little imp pops out to the tune of carnival music.

Seriously.

I'm surrounded by hopeless fools.

Surrounded, I tell you!

* * *

I cast an enchantment on Henry's heart to ensure that no one can ever take it again, and to my complete and utter surprise, diary, he let me.

He didn't complain. He didn't shove me away or yell at me or accuse me of being evil or of using dark magic.

He wasn't afraid of me, and he didn't look at me in that way that I'd become all too familiar with—that accusatory way that made my heart feel like it was going to wither and die and crumble.

Instead, Henry looked at me with love in his eyes—love and appreciation.

And when he grabbed my hand, diary, and said, "Thanks Mom," I had to choke back a heavy sob.

My eyes stung and my chest felt tight but wonderful. In that moment, diary, Henry was my little boy again, my little prince.

I was so happy in that moment that I was on the verge of imploding. I just wanted to wrap Henry up in my arms and squeeze until I couldn't squeeze anymore.

I resisted the urge, though, diary, because saving Henry wouldn't have been much of a victory if I, in turn, squished him to death with my motherly affection.

Still wanted to, though.

Instead, my son and I held hands and just appreciated being together again as he drifted off to sleep and I whispered that we would be home soon.

Home.

I sighed as I took one last look at my son before heading back up to the deck. I could only hope that Henry's idea of home involved me in some way, and maybe, if I'm lucky, Emma's idea of home might involve me, too.

A girl can dream, diary. A girl can definitely dream.


End file.
